


The Cost of a New Broom

by TheVulgarBookworm



Series: Fiendfyre [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coach/Player Roleplay, Doggy Style, Intercrural Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostitution, Spanking, Underage Prostitution, gagging, quidditch kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVulgarBookworm/pseuds/TheVulgarBookworm
Summary: Lucius has finally healed up from his Quidditch injury, and needs to purchase a new broom. He knows that Devlin Whitehorn has a thing for Quidditch players.Side story to 'Playing With Fiendfyre' but that story does not have to be read first. Takes place Christmas holidays of Lucius' fifth year, which would make him fifteen in this story. If that bothers you, please scroll on.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Devlin Whitehorn, Lucius Malfoy/Other(s)
Series: Fiendfyre [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664950
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	The Cost of a New Broom

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fully M/M slash story and I'm really excited about it! A little more of Lucius' backstory for 'Playing With Fiendfyre'. It just didn't fit in the context of that story, hence the one-shot. Enjoy! 
> 
> Whitehorn is slightly aged up in this story.

Lucius fingered the freshly healed scar beneath his robes absently thinking that if it had to have happened, at least it had been during the first match of the season. He wouldn’t have been sufficiently healed otherwise, though the final match would have been the preferred option if it couldn't have been avoided entirely.

“Mr. Malfoy?” He sat up straighter, dropping his hand onto his thigh quickly as the assistant approached him. “Mr. Whitehorn will see you now, sir.” 

Lucius nodded, rising to his feet, and followed him down the hall. He kept his back ramrod straight as he entered the room, his posture perfect, his father had been right about that, that his carriage was more important than his height, and waited until the assistant had closed the door behind him before striding forward, his cane tapping against the hardwood floor rhythmically.

The man behind the desk stood, walking around the corner, and extended his hand in greeting. “Young Mister Malfoy. A pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

Devlin Whitehorn was a surprising, and stunningly well-dressed man, Lucius noted. Next to him, his father would look plain by comparison. 

“Do sit.” Lucius took the proffered chair, graceful as he took his seat, and Whitehorn made his way back around the desk, seating himself before continuing. “What brings you through my doors today, young man?”

“I’m sure you know why I’m here, sir.” Lucius was eager to skip through the niceties. It was unlikely he hadn’t heard the news. He was sure the man was just dragging it out unnecessarily.

“Yes, I heard about that nasty little accident. The papers described it as being quite gruesome actually.” Whitehorn shook his head with a grimace.

“Now that I’ve healed, I’ll naturally be needing a new broom. Everyone knows that yours are the best.”

Whitehorn smiled sheepishly. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m afraid that you won’t be getting one of mine. Your father has already contacted me. He informed me that he won’t be paying for it, and I certainly won't be giving one away for free. I don't know what the man has against Quidditch, but I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time, lad.”

Lucius swallowed his sudden rage, hiding it behind his carefully cultivated air of Malfoy arrogance. He should have realized the spiteful bastard would have already made the rounds.  _ He _ didn’t have to wait for holiday breaks to conduct his business affairs. 

“I’ll buy it myself then,” Lucius stated confidently, his head held high.

“Is that so? You see, I know you can’t access your vaults without permission. You can’t even buy so much as a chocolate frog without daddy’s say-so.” Whitehorn looked at him across the desk, a smug expression on his face as though daring Lucius to argue. 

Lucius, for his part, remained outwardly calm, though inside he was raging. He hadn’t gotten what he had come for yet, and it wouldn’t do to lose his temper now before he did. “I can access them when I graduate Hogwarts. I’ll pay you then.” 

Whitehorn stood, moving over to his bar, and began to pour himself a drink. Lucius noted that he didn’t offer him one. While true that Whitehorn shouldn't really offer him one due to his age, that wasn't the point. He was old enough that tradition dictated the man make the offer so that Lucius could gracefully refuse. The offer served as a statement, an acknowledgement that they were on equal terms. The lack of an offer told Lucius in no uncertain terms, that Whitehorn was already dismissing him as someone of no consequence. 

“So, just give you the broom now, then?"

He glanced back at Lucius, an eyebrow raised meaningfully.

"How many more matches between now and when you can access those vaults? More than enough to get yourself killed I’d wager, and then I'm out merchandise.”

“You know he won’t let that happen. I’m his legacy. Charge me interest. You know I’ll be good for it.”

Whitehorn sipped from his glass, seeming to consider Lucius’ counter. “How much interest?”

Lucius snorted derisively. “Twenty-five percent? Who cares?” Indeed, whatever it was, it was pocket change to him, or it would be anyway. 

Whitehorn leaned against the edge of his desk, nodding in consideration as he ran the numbers in his head. “That’s quite generous, young man. Or you can pay for the broom later and we could take care of the interest now.” Whitehorn looked at him over the rim of his glass, intent clear in his gaze if not his voice.

“I’m not certain I follow you, sir.”

“You’re a smart lad. Everyone says so. A handsome one too.” 

He moved closer to Lucius, running his fingers down the side of his face in far too familiar a manner. Lucius remained still beneath the man’s touch as he tucked a strand of his long hair behind his ear, his face impassive.

“There's no way you're that naive. You know exactly what I’m saying. So, tell me," he took another sip of his scotch, "how much do you love playing Quidditch?"

Lucius stared at the other man, unblinking as he smirked down at him. A muscle in his jaw ticked. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, you know," Whitehorn replied flippantly. "The usual in these sorts of situations."

Lucius' irritation ticked up another notch. He understood, and appreciated, the man's desire for caution. It was just frustrating for him to not know what the man wanted from him in plain terms. He would have to be the one to lay out the terms of their deal, and he doubted Whitehorn would be willing to make the trade for just a blowjob.

"I’ll suck you off…,” as he thought, Whitehorn didn’t appear any more interested than before as he studied the contents of his glass, “and I’ll let you fuck me.”

A wide grin spread across Whitehorn’s face. "Merlin, I cannot wait to tell-"

“No. You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone," Lucius growled. "Not a soul.”

Whitehorn laughed, reaching out to muss up Lucius’ hair. “You really think you’re in a position to make demands? I’ll brag to whomever I damn well please. I’ll shout it from the rooftops if I want.”

"No you won't." Lucius smirked right back. "I don't think Anna would appreciate what will happen if you do."

The color drained from Whitehorn's face.

Lucius’ shrugged nonchalantly. "Or she might. One never knows. I tend not to judge."

"You wouldn't-"

“You breathe a word, a hint even, and the entire school will believe your darling little Anna is Slytherin house’s personal whore. The girl’s half in love with me already. It wouldn’t take much to convince her; to go from rumor to reality.” 

Lucius was pleased with the way horror washed over Whitehorn’s face at his threat. 

"Now I didn't want it to come to this. I like your daughter. She doesn't deserve that." He leaned forward and plucked Whitehorn's glass out of his hand, downing the remnants in a single swallow. "But you forced my hand."

"Fine," Whitehorn ground out. "Not a single word."

Lucius smiled brightly. "I'm glad we understand each other."

"You've taken an awfully big risk, Malfoy."

"No, merely a calculated one," Lucius replied. "You said it yourself. I'm not naive. Why do you think I sought you out, rather than one of your competitors? I know what makes you tick. I know that your assistant likely didn't earn his position through academic merit. The fact that your brooms are the best was just a bonus."

Whitehorn licked his lips as though mesmerized, running his fingers down the side of Lucius’ face once more. “When you finally get a taste of true power, boy, you’ll be so much more dangerous than your father has ever been.” He leaned down and sealed his lips over Lucius’ possessively. 

The man tasted like scotch, Lucius supposed that he did as well, and the small amount he had knocked back was making his chest warm. The butterflies in his stomach, however, were not caused by the scotch, and though unexpected they were not unwelcome. Devlin Whitehorn might have been twice his age, but he was rather fit and he looked good in the suit and he was an absolute genius when it came to broom design. Lucius' cock twitched with interest.

He allowed the kiss to continue for exactly five seconds before he pushed Whitehorn away and stood, momentarily confusing the man. “The broom?” he asked, his eyebrow lifted in query. 

“I'll have it sent,” Whitehorn murmured breathlessly. He reached for Lucius again only to be pushed away once more. 

"I'm not that stupid. Besides, I have my sights set a little higher than some reject on the stockroom floor."

Whitehorn drew back to look at Lucius, his brows knitted together in confusion.

"That special shipment earmarked for the Harpies… I'll take one of those."

Whitehorn’s eyes widened a fraction. The only way Lucius could have known about the newest, forthcoming model was if Anna had told him about it. It subtly leant weight to his prior threat. "I can't do that. It’s supposed to go out tomorrow. It would delay shipment…"

"That isn't my concern. Make it happen. I don't care how. Just know that it's the only thing I'm willing to trade for."

Lucius stepped in close to Whitehorn, close enough that he could breathe in the man's cologne. It was rather tasteful in his opinion, and he leaned in to catch the elusive scent.

He grinned against the older man's throat, and let out a little huff of laughter when he felt a hand ghost over his arse. Lucius licked Whitehorn's neck, catching the skin between his teeth. The man released a ragged moan in response, and Lucius knew that Whitehorn's libido had just won out over his better judgement.

Lucius smoothed a hand over Whitehorn's starched lapels, biting his lower lip seductively as the corner of his mouth lifted in a sly grin. 

"I'll expect you at the manor at five. Don't worry," Lucius continued off Whitehorn's concerned look, "he won't be there."

"Five o'clock is an odd request. Why not now?"

"I have things to prepare first. You'll see. Bring what I want with you," Lucius' hand dropped down to cup Whitehorn's cock through his trousers, "and you'll get everything you want in return."

He stepped back before Whitehorn could kiss him again, and walked out of the room with confident steps, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucius adjusted the collar on his robes, admiring the view stretching out before him from where he stood when the distinct clap of house-elf apparition came from behind him. He turned his head slightly, taking in the sight of his house-elf quivering in terror and Devlin Whitehorn standing behind him, clutching a velvet bag that quite clearly contained a broom. Lucius pulled his cloak closed tighter and gave the elf a flinty look. The thing shrank back, wringing its hands nervously.

He didn't trust it, not the way he trusted the rest of the house-elves. It was shifty, always watching him, hanging about in the shadows. At times he thought it was a spy reporting back to his father, but it was so clumsy and stupid he couldn't see how that possibly could be.

"Young Master, he refused to give it to-"

"That's because he's cautious." Lucius smiled broadly at Whitehorn. "As any man in his position should be."

He held out his hand for the broom. Whitehorn hesitated, and then reluctantly held it out to him. Lucius held his breath in anticipation as he stripped the broom of its packaging. He released that breath as it was revealed to him.

It was sleek. The lacquered wood of the handle had a warm glow from the day's remaining light. It was certainly…

"A thing of beauty," Lucius whispered in awe, his fingers stroking over the twined bristles reverently.

Whitehorn cleared his throat. "I've upheld my end of the deal."

Lucius' eyes were drawn back to the man's face. He looked like he thought he had made a mistake. "And you'll find that I uphold my end as well, Mr. Whitehorn. Right now though, I think it would be appropriate if I were to test it out."

Anger slashed across Whitehorn's features. "You don't trust me?"

"That's not what I meant, though as a matter of principle I more often tend towards distrust." Lucius looked down at the elf and ordered in a clipped tone, "Drop the glamour."

The elf flinched, whining momentarily, and then clicked his fingers. The air around them wavered for a moment, and then the glamour fell away, revealing six tall, beautiful golden hoops and an expanse of open field between them. He gave the elf another, withering look, watching it pop away, and then turned back to face Whitehorn.

Lucius shrugged off his outer cloak, throwing it onto the ground at his feet imperiously, and then dropped his own glamour that had kept his final surprise hidden from Whitehorn’s gaze until now. He had to admit, he had a flair for the dramatic. Whitehorn clearly appreciated it though. His needy groan was unmistakable, though that could have been due to what he was wearing. Whitehorn's eyes travelled up and down the length of Lucius' body. He stepped close, a hand reaching out, nearly trembling, fingers landing to stroke lightly over the silver lining of Lucius' robes near his collarbone.

"I did promise you would get what you wanted, Mr. Whitehorn," Lucius murmured as he peeled Whitehorn's fingers off, catching a whiff of the scent of his leather Quidditch gloves, a seductive smile lifting the corners of his mouth, "or should I call you 'coach' instead?"

Whitehorn swallowed hard, leaning in to capture Lucius' lips. Lucius laughed, jumped back, and in a flash had mounted his new broom and kicked off the ground. 

He gripped the handle tightly, tucking down low to reduce his profile. The broom in his grasp handled like it was an extension of himself. It responded at the slightest urging, at a miniscule dip of his shoulder, or an incremental twist of his knee. He sped up, going faster, rushing around the goal posts in a figure eight before shooting straight up into the air near mid-pitch and disappearing into the clouds.

A wide grin split Lucius' face as he soared higher. The wind whipped his long hair behind him and chilled his cheeks. He reached the apex of his flight, allowing gravity to catch him, and as he fell, slowly at first and then faster, he knew that he would have done anything to feel again the freedom and joy he was feeling now.

As he neared the ground, Lucius kicked his heels, pulling up on the handle to slow his descent. He spied Whitehorn as he drew closer, trousers open and cock in hand. The man never took his eyes off him as he stroked himself feverishly.

Lucius flew towards Whitehorn, jumping off the broom in a running dismount that was as fluid and graceful as if he had never spent time off a broom healing at all. He came to a stop right in front of the older man, falling to his knees without a word.

When he looked up, the hard protrusion of flesh before him was already a deep shade of red, the head nearly purple, and when he allowed his gaze to travel farther up, Whitehorn's eyes were heavy lidded with his arousal. 

Whitehorn reached down to brush his fingers over Lucius' cheek, rosy from the winter wind. His thumb stroked across Lucius' bottom lip, and he groaned when Lucius drew the digit into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around it and sucking.

"How old are you, Lucius?" he asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

His thumb slipped from the warmth of Lucius' mouth allowing Lucius to answer.

"However old you want me to be, Mr. Whitehorn…"

"No really…"

Lucius considered his answer for a moment, finally deciding that it didn't matter if he told Whitehorn the truth or not. He doubted the man was backing out of their deal now regardless.

"Fifteen. Until May," Lucius reluctantly admitted.

Whitehorn studied his face intently, and then he leaned down to claim a greedy kiss, his tongue thrusting eagerly into Lucius' mouth. He broke the kiss as suddenly as he had begun, and stood up straight again. "But have you done this before?"

Lucius released a short huff of laughter. His hand slid up Whitehorn's thigh, cupping his balls before closing around the base of his shaft. With a mischievous glint he leaned forward, his tongue circling the head of Whitehorn's cock before he closed his lips around the glans and suckled gently. Lucius quickly established a rhythm between his hand and his mouth that had the man groaning. 

Whitehorn hissed sharply when Lucius sucked hard and the head of his cock touched the back of his throat. "You're either a natural or you've had far too much practice for a fifteen year-old. Not that I'm complaining."

Whitehorn's cock slid free with a wet pop.

Lucius gave him a cheeky grin before answering. "I might be a quick learner, but I don't believe in naturals. It's just practice, Mr. Whitehorn, as important on the pitch as off."

"No, you had it right earlier. I'd prefer 'Coach' if you don't mind. Should I be concerned about how you knew?"

Lucius shrugged lightly. "I needed a new broom. You might say I was motivated to find out, but it wasn't exactly easy."

His words seemed to reassure Whitehorn enough for him to decide it was time to continue. He cupped the base of Lucius' skull. Lucius took the hint. He opened his mouth slightly, leaning forward. The rest he left up to Whitehorn. 

The man thrust at a languid pace, and from the way he moaned he was clearly enjoying himself.

"Open your trousers," Whitehorn urged between grunts and groans. "Touch yourself," and he gripped the sides of Lucius' head to guide him while he did as instructed.

Lucius dropped his hands to the front of his trousers where his tenting erection made the fabric tight and the buttons difficult to undo. When he finally managed the task he groaned in relief causing Whitehorn to buck wildly, an answering groan emanating from his own chest. Lucius struggled for a moment trying to concentrate on keeping up with Whitehorn's pace while he tried to shove his trousers far enough down his hips to free his cock.

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

Lucius blinked slowly, looking up through his lashes, and grinned around his mouthful when Whitehorn's breath caught.

"I should have guessed you'd be gorgeous all over…"

Lucius knew how he looked with his lashes that were just a little too long, his pale porcelain skin, his long silky hair, and his cheeks pinked from the cold. He was every man's wet dream come true who was so inclined, and perhaps even a few who weren't. If he hadn’t already known which way Whitehorn leaned, the way Whitehorn's fingers tangled in his hair as he fucked his mouth would have made it easy to tell which group he belonged to.

He sucked and licked and teased Whitehorn while he stroked himself and fondled his sac until his jaw began to ache. And still Whitehorn carried on long after Lucius thought he would stop. A small frown slashed between his brows, and his eyes darted down to where Whitehorn gripped his cock tightly in one hand as he fed it to him before they flicked back up.

He finally lost the rhythm and gagged slightly, receiving a smirk and chuckle.

"That's what I thought. You've only played around with other boys your age, haven't you?"

Not that Lucius could reply with Whitehorn's grip on his hair and the hard flesh filling his mouth, but the man didn't seem to require it anyway.

"Don't get me wrong. You are quite talented, but you still have a lot to learn." 

Lucius was starting to drool uncontrollably, and he was beginning to panic a bit. Could Whitehorn actually drown him like this?

"Calm down," Whitehorn murmured. "Forget about the drool. Focus. Just suck and swallow. Yes, that's it."

Lucius whimpered pitifully.

"Oh, I know," he stroked Lucius' hair soothingly. "That jaw must be aching terribly by now if you've only had a few eager young boys to practice on. It won't be for much longer. I promise."

It might not have been much longer, but it felt like ages when Whitehorn finally withdrew and eagerly pushed him onto the ground, turning him over onto his hands and knees. Lucius bit his lip as Whitehorn drew the lower half of his quidditch robes to the side leaving the silver lettering of his name and number ‘6’ visible, then pushed his trousers farther down his thighs.

His arse was exposed, and he whined when Whitehorn smacked him, squeezing a firm globe in each hand to press them together and thrust against his cleft. 

"You have no idea how much I love quidditch players," Whitehorn muttered hotly.

Lucius thought he had a fairly good idea given the way Whitehorn pawed at him. He pushed Lucius' thighs together shifting to thrust between them. Lucius released a strangled shout when the head of Whitehorn's cock struck the back of his swaying balls. It was evident that it was intended when he kept on striking him. Lucius reached between his legs only to have his hand slapped away.

"Hands and knees and don't move," Whitehorn ordered.

Lucius put his hand back down, digging his fingers into the crisp grass. He moaned out loud when slightly roughened fingers closed around him and began the slow, delicious slide up and down his shaft. Lucius bit back a moan every time Whitehorn's cockhead stabbed his testicles until he was squirming to get away before he came too soon, a futile effort as Whitehorn held him fast.

"Please… I can't-"

"Then what should you say?"

Lucius shook his head to clear the fog of lust, his hair falling around his face. He couldn't think straight. Whitehorn smacked his arse again to get his attention. Lucius nearly jumped out of his skin in shock.

"Come on," he urged. "You know what I want."

Lucius forced the words out through gritted teeth, praying that he could hold out just a little longer. "P- Please, Coach Devlin…" The man hissed behind him, bucking against Lucius particularly hard. 

There was a moment when his eyes rolled back and everything went fuzzy. His arms shook, and unable to hold himself up any longer, Lucius dropped his head to rest on his forearm.

"Please fuck me… I- I need to be fucked."

"Mmm,” Whitehorn moaned behind him. “I'll absolutely agree with that."

Whitehorn mercifully stopped rutting against him. Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't known how much longer he could have held out.

The next instant there were thick fingers pressing against his hole, and he heard a satisfied chuckle. "Did you get yourself ready for me, you dirty little boy?"

Lucius groaned, shivering when two fingers sank into him and pressed against his prostate, forcing a trickle of clear fluid from the tip of his cock. He hadn't done it for Whitehorn, though he wasn't going to tell him that. Lucius had simply thought it prudent to take matters into his own hands. One of his previous lovers had been a little stingy on the prep and he wasn't exactly eager to experience that again. Considering that he  _ had _ threatened the man's daughter, he didn't think leaving it up to chance was a smart move on his part.

All too soon the torturous pressure against his prostate was gone, leaving him feeling empty. Whitehorn used his thumbs to part Lucius' cheeks and spit directly onto his exposed hole. Lucius felt the man grasp himself, dragging his cockhead all around his rim before he slowly began to press inside.

Lucius sobbed as Whitehorn filled him. The man wasn't overly large, but he was thick, and despite his thorough preparations, it was a little uncomfortable. It was just further proof that the man methodically working into him was indeed a man and not one of his schoolmates. 

Whitehorn didn't stop until he was pressed flush against him. He could feel the older man's balls nestled right behind his own, could feel the thickness within him throbbing in time with the man's lust. There was a hand at his hip holding him in place and another caressing his back tenderly, stroking across the letters and his jersey number emblazoned on his robes. He was used to people playing with his hair. This was something quite new.

Whitehorn grabbed a fistful of his jersey, and began to move in short, shallow thrusts that quickly turned downright violent. Clearly he was done waiting for Lucius to adjust. Each harsh thrust wrung breathy moans from Lucius' lips. Every snap of Whitehorn's hips made stars dance across the backs of his eyelids. Each time Whitehorn shoved himself balls deep inside him it caused an answering slap of his cock against his own belly.

Lucius ran his tongue across his bottom lip, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold off his impending orgasm. He had never been so close to losing it so quickly before. Heat swirled in his belly like the scotch from earlier.

Whitehorn's hand closed in a loose fist around his shaft, and Lucius couldn't keep from thrusting into that warmth. He was caught between the heady pleasure of the heat of Whitehorn's fist and the throbbing pulse stroking over his prostate. Lucius bit hard into the fleshy part of his hand as his balls drew up close. He released a muffled scream as his orgasm came crashing down on him, and then sobbed in confusion as it was unexpectedly ripped away from him.

Lucius gazed down the line of his body. Whitehorn's hand which had been loosely wrapped around his cock now all but strangled him about the base. The man hadn't let up a bit, driving into him relentlessly. Lucius writhed against the iron grip that held him in place, desperate to feel the bliss that came with release.

He was begging uncontrollably before he realized it, and Whitehorn was offering soothing words of encouragement as he finally let up on his death grip. Lucius came quite suddenly and impressively, his muscles contracting around the thick cock still buried in his arse. His cock still twitched weakly, spurting onto the grass beneath him when Whitehorn withdrew.

Lucius could hear the telltale sounds of a hand sliding over a slick cock, and knew Whitehorn was finishing himself off. He had assumed Whitehorn would want to finish inside. It wasn't until Whitehorn gripped his waist and moved closer that Lucius realized what he had in mind. Whitehorn grunted out his release, coming all over the back of Lucius' jersey, but Lucius was too exhausted to do anything more than just lie there on the ground.

Whitehorn turned him over gently, kneeling above him to run a hand over his well-defined stomach. 

"What was that?" Lucius asked dreamily, still in a bit of a lustful daze.

Whitehorn grinned down at him. His skin prickled with gooseflesh where Whitehorn touched him, and he shied away when his touch ghosted over his spent cock.

"A little sensitive?"

Lucius batted his hands away, pulling up his trousers as he got unsteadily to his feet. Whitehorn followed suit. He looked towards the manor, readjusting his robes, and said nonchalantly, "Would you like to stay for dinner? The elves should be just about ready."

Whitehorn couldn't hide his surprise. "That's… unexpected. I thought we just-"

Lucius silenced Whitehorn with a kiss, smoothing down the lapels on his suit. 

"That was business," he whispered, voice low and sultry. "This… is decidedly not."

The backs of Whitehorn's knuckles grazed his cheek before his arm slipped around his back to pull him closer. "You going to keep the robes on?"

Lucius grinned coyly, leaning down to pick up his broom. He gave Whitehorn a meaningful glance over his shoulder, heading back towards the manor.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He assumed the dinner was good, it always was, but he had no recollection of it.

Lucius nearly fell through the door as it flung open and Whitehorn shoved him into the room. He immediately pulled the older man back into a ferocious liplock. His cock was achingly hard at the feeling of the solid body against him, and he gasped, a tongue filling his mouth to silence him, when a hand dipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, stroking fast and hard until he was ready to scream.

He fumbled with ties and toggles and buttons until his trousers were pooled around his ankles and one of his shin guards dangled precariously off his foot. His fingers were grasping for the ties on his jersey when Whitehorn stopped him. He helped Lucius shed his jumper and then redressed him in the jersey, draping it around him like a robe. 

"We're a little impatient aren't we?" Whitehorn chuckled, and slid his hands over Lucius' arse. He hoisted Lucius with little effort, legs on either side of his waist, and Lucius had to grab onto his shoulders to steady himself as Whitehorn carried him towards the bed.

Lucius found himself dumped backwards onto the bedding before Whitehorn bent to carefully remove his remaining shin guard. His trousers were quickly removed too and unceremoniously thrown onto the floor. Lucius scrambled back towards the headboard. Whitehorn followed, slotting himself in between Lucius' thighs, a hand on either side of his head, boxing him in. He took hold of Lucius' wrists, placing them on the pillow above his head.

"Nice room," Whitehorn murmured, pushing aside the edge of Lucius' jersey so that he could bend down and lick a pale, pink nipple. 

Lucius' eyes rolled back at the contact, a smile playing about his lips. He pressed up against the hot tongue teasing him and almost missed the whispered  _ Incarcerous _ that bound his arms at the wrist above his head.

"But the Slytherin green is a little on the nose, don't you think?" Whitehorn wrapped his lips around the bud, suckling it to wring an open-mouthed sigh from Lucius.

"I've always thought so," Lucius murmured distractedly once he could concentrate on forming any words at all.

"So, why don't you change it?" Whitehorn asked, pinching Lucius' neglected nipple.

"I plan to!" he hissed. His eyes snapped open as soon as he realized too late what he had just said, and met Whitehorn's incredulous gaze.

The man sat back suddenly, his previous lust draining from his face along with his color. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"No..." The anger in the eyes staring back at him was unmistakable and Lucius could see how the situation might look from the other side.

"What's supposed to happen here, Lucius? Is Abraxas supposed to come home and find his bent son getting fucked in his own bed? Is this how he's supposed to find out?"

"No, he's not-" but Whitehorn wasn't listening.

"Fuck, you're still underage too!" He scrubbed a hand over his face as the realization dawned on him. "I knew this was a bad idea. I am so fucked…"

Lucius reached out, his hands still bound together, and grappled for Whitehorn's wrist to keep him from fleeing. He cried out as he was suddenly knocked backwards, a fully grown man pressing him down into the mattress, a hand at his throat.

His eyes were wide with fear at what Whitehorn might do in his distraught state. 

"He's not coming!" Lucius hissed, trying to pry off the steely fingers cutting off his air supply. "He's in-"

"What?" Whitehorn released him suddenly, coming to his senses at last.

"He's in Japan," Lucius coughed, rubbing at his throat. "He'll be gone another ten days. And I'm not bent."

Whitehorn shot him a look of clear disbelief, and Lucius added, "Not exclusively."

"Well, I suppose that makes it easier to hide, doesn’t it? If you weren't planning on him finding out, then what are we doing here?"

Lucius huffed, turning his head away, a scowl on his face. "I told you. It's just a bit of fun."

Whitehorn pushed him back down into the bedding, and straddled his stomach. He placed Lucius' bound hands back above his head, a sticking charm kept them there, and Whitehorn forced Lucius to look up at him.

"What is this about?"

"Nothing," he spat back, harsher than he'd meant to.

"If that were true, you'd be tied up in your own bed."

With Whitehorn's hand gripping his jaw, Lucius couldn't turn his head, but he sullenly refused to answer.

"Oh, I get it." Whitehorn lowered his hand and his gaze dropped to Lucius' stomach. 

He walked backwards on his knees until he could finger the hideous, mottled pink and white scar tenderly. "This is what it's about. You blame him, and since the old man hates Quidditch… Was the new broom just a bonus too?"

Lucius could feel Whitehorn looking at him again, but he couldn't meet his gaze. He stared at the ceiling above trying not to let the tears pricking at his eyes fall before he could make Whitehorn leave.

"Slumming and soiling his sheets isn't payback. The elves will change the bedding. He'll never even know."

"I'll know."

Whitehorn placed his whole hand over Lucius' scar. It didn't even cover half of it.

"It doesn't make you ugly, kid." Lucius hated that he couldn't stop his little indrawn breath. "Is that what he told you?"

"Not in so many words."

The hand on his stomach moved in slow circles, soothing the damaged nerves as they came alive under Whitehorn's touch. It was both painful and pleasant and his cock was beginning to wake back up in response.

Whitehorn gave him a smug grin, shifting lower so that he could lie down between his spread legs.

"What are you-"

"I said it wouldn't make a difference, not that I wouldn't fuck you. You can even drop by my office again if you want. I’d love to have you there." Whitehorn stroked his cock slowly as it lay against his belly, smoothing a palm over his sac. 

"Though I would greatly appreciate it if you waited until after… May, was it?" Lucius nodded slowly, watching Whitehorn's movements with rapt attention. He watched him lean forward, drawing one of his testicles into his mouth, rolling his tongue all around it before poking the second in as well. 

Lucius was shockingly hard in moments. He flexed his fingers, balling his hands into fists within his bonds. They held fast despite his squirming, and Whitehorn chuckled, the vibrations making him buck uncontrollably.

He suckled on Lucius' balls until he ripped a needy little whine from the back of his throat.

"You'll need to get louder than that. No silencing yourself this time, kid. I want to hear you lose control."

Lucius was about to inform Whitehorn that silencing himself hadn't been his aim when he'd bitten into the back of his hand, in truth he just hadn't bitten hard enough to get what he was truly after, but Whitehorn chose that moment to lick all the way up the underside of his cock from base to tip. His tongue dipped into the slit and Lucius surged up off the bed with an inarticulate cry.

Whitehorn held him down, his thumb caressing the lower edge of his scar near his hip as he drew him fully into the heated depths of his mouth. Once again Whitehorn gripped the base of his cock tightly, denying his orgasm, and Lucius groaned in frustration.

“We’re going to have to work on your stamina,” Whitehorn chuckled. He slowly drew the leather tie of his Quidditch jersey through the holes, allowing the uniform to fall open and expose Lucius’ chest completely.

Lucius whined when Whitehorn grasped him by the balls, tugging his sac away from his body slightly. He watched the man wind the leather cord around his balls, before running it between the two globes, and then finally securing it snugly around the base of his erection. Whitehorn returned to sucking on his cock, only this time it was exquisite torture as he knew there was no chance of him coming.

After long minutes that made Lucius insane with need, Whitehorn sat back, giving his cock a final playful tug that made Lucius hiss. The man withdrew a small vial of oil from his pocket, placing it on the bed next to him, and set about languidly removing his clothes. Whitehorn was even fitter than Lucius had thought. His broad chest was covered in a coat of dark hair, so different from his own and the other boys at school. He licked his lips, and Whitehorn smiled before settling back between Lucius' thighs and returning to his task.

Whitehorn unstoppered the vial, drizzling a small amount of oil onto his fingers as his tongue teased the head of Lucius'cock. Lucius groaned as he slipped those fingers inside his arse, first two and then adding a third rather quickly, as he sucked him. The thumb of his free hand still caressed his scar maddeningly, waking up the nerves surrounding it until they screamed in protest.

He was incoherent when Whitehorn finally knelt between his legs and hooked his knees over his arms. Whitehorn swallowed Lucius' cry as he thrust into him, the pace he set demanding and rough. Lucius felt light-headed as Whitehorn's tongue slipped inside his mouth to play with his own.

Whitehorn suddenly pulled back, throwing his head back as he clutched Lucius' legs more tightly. Lucius felt the man pulse inside him, felt his warmth filling him up, and begged Whitehorn to let him come too.

Whitehorn ignored his pleas, withdrawing slowly, and getting up from the bed. He grimaced at the slick wetness of the man's come leaking from his well-used hole.

Lucius pulled at his bonds ineffectually, a tear of frustration slipping from the corner of his eye. He looked over at Whitehorn digging around in his father's nightstand carelessly.

"Please," he murmured. Whitehorn shot him a grin and replied, "You're the one who wanted to make a mess of your father's bed."

He held up a small case of potion vials triumphantly. "Ah! I was hoping I'd find some here. Older wizards often need a bit of assistance."

Whitehorn knocked back a vial, and Lucius watched incredulously as his cock filled, standing back at attention.

He tossed the case onto the pillow next to Lucius' head and climbed back onto the bed with him. Lucius groaned as Whitehorn slid his fingers through the mess between his cheeks, pushing some of his come back into him. 

Whitehorn drew Lucius' right leg across his body, turning him onto his side though his hands were still stuck fast. He leaned down to kiss him possessively, stroking a slick hand over Lucius' cock until he whined.

"You said you weren't expecting him," Whitehorn murmured as he slid back inside Lucius.

Lucius cried out as Whitehorn entered him. His thick cock felt so much bigger in this position.

"And there are four more vials in there."

Whitehorn bit Lucius lower lip and thrust harder.

"So, I'm going to grant you your wish." His hips sped up, punching ragged moans from Lucius' lungs.

"I'm going to leave you an absolute mess," and Lucius cried out, throwing his head back, his bound cock purple and straining against the leather cord as Whitehorn's thick cock began to stroke over his prostate.


End file.
